


We wrote a story in the fog on the window that night...

by KeepGoing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, Disfigurement, Happy Ending, Human AU, M/M, PTSD, Secret Lovers, Trigger Warning: Fire, Trigger Warning: House Fire, burn scars, fuck buddies, jock!Stiles, no one dies, reunited, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7229383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is the Stiles he wants to know. The Stiles few do know. Not the Lacrosse player. Not the man-eater. Just Stiles. With his sarcastic sense of humor and passion about things other than sports. Derek wonders and wants to ask why Stiles hides so much when who he really is is just so beautiful, but he doesn’t. He will save that for another time. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>But as Derek inhales one last time before it all goes black he realizes there is no more time. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s a tragic tale and Derek almost laughs. His life had become so cliché and not how he intended it to go at all. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Fire stains and paints everything with color. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	We wrote a story in the fog on the window that night...

**Author's Note:**

> This is like nothing I have ever written before. I am not sure where it came from or why this flowed so easily from me. If are triggered by fire, house fires or disfigurement, don't go any further. I totally understand. 
> 
> Each part of this fic is taken from a song on Halsey's Album "Bandlands." It was my soundtrack for this fic while I was writing it. 
> 
> As always comments are love. Tell me what you thought. Seriously cause I have no idea where this came from.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
****  
  
Prologue --Strange Love  


 

The crowd is on their feet.

Including him, his heart racing, watching as number 24 runs at top speed, weaving in and out of bodies clutching his stick with grace and agility. He’s never been into sports, but he has to admit this whole scene is just beautiful. 

Or maybe just the player is. 

It's like time actually stands still when the ball is finally thrown toward the goal and every breath in the stadium is being held and when it finally hits the net, past the goalie as if he ever really stood a chance at stopping it, and it's as if the world begins to turn again and the oxygen finally begins to be sifted into the atmosphere once more. 

The screams are deafening and number 24 is being lifted up onto the shoulders of his teammates and when his helmet is forced off his head and when he throws his arms above it in victory Derek Hale wants to believe that it's his eyes, his face, number 24 is looking for in the crowd. 

Truth is number 24 is looking for everyone. Any set of eyes that will meet his. And they all do. 

Derek isn't special. He knows that. He’s just one more set of eyes, set of lips, another body for number 24 to feel underneath his. Another face in the crowd that adores him. 

Derek knows he's just another heart that beats for the player on the field. He’s one of many. 

But he knows he will be back in a few days, same seat, same bleachers. To watch number 24, steal the heart of yet another victim. He will see him on campus as his smile causes natural disasters in his path. Everyone knows his name. Everyone wants him. Everyone likes him. And Derek watches from the corners and the shadows of number 24’s world as he builds a life without Derek in it. 

But he comes back. He will always come back. 

Every damn time. 

Strong fingers grip his hips as he rides the pleasure underneath him. He hears praises in the air of how good it feels and how he’s the best the body under him as ever felt and Derek knows its words that are said to every single body that is in this position on any particular night. Derek knows he isn't special. He needs to remind himself of that on nights like this. Nights where he is the chosen one. The nights when number 24’s eyes finally meet his and it's his turn. 

Derek always feels disgusted with himself when the night is over, but in moments like this he pretends it's real. The feelings, the electricity between them. That the way he’s touched and kissed and fucked is somehow more than what he knows in his used soul, isn't. 

He could say no. He should. He wants to. More than anything. But he can't. 

Number 24 isn't the kind of person you love. He isn't the kind of person you get to hold hands with between classes and go to parties with as you mingle together through the crowds. He isn't the kind of person you bring home during winter break to meet your parents. 

He’s this unattainable entity that Derek can't seem to shake the need to possess. But he won't. He never will. This is as close as they will ever be. As close as Derek will ever be. And as close as it is; with number 24 inside him, filling him with words and cum; it will never be as close as Derek wants or needs. 

When it's over and clothes are re-buttoned and cigarettes are smoked and the drive back to campus is long and quiet except for the local radio station playing bad indie music at 1am, number 24 gets out of the car without another look or word. Derek watches as he runs across the grass to his house to join his other friends and players in a place the school reserves just for men like number 24 and his teammates. 

Derek sits there for a few minutes, smearing small circles in the fog on the windows that has yet to clear from the pleasure he tortured himself with. 

Derek writes his lover's name, making up his own stories in his head; fairy tales; but he knows the ending is the same every damn time.  
  
**Part One -- Hurricane**  
  
His name is Stiles Stilinski.

It's a nickname; Derek has seen his full legal name in the school paper and local papers rehashing the previous night’s games and it’s completely unpronounceable. Stiles is a nickname he’s had since he was younger; he's told countless reporters. 

Number 24. Star Lacrosse player. He’s a bit of a legend, a mystery and yet every single person at the college thinks he knows Stiles Stilinski as if he was a member of their family. Or a celebrity. And Derek knows this is probably as close as he will ever get to an actual celebrity. 

It started sometime last year. He had a class with Stiles and they made eye contact a few times while Professor Deaton went on with his lectures about Anthropology and Derek already knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. No one knew Derek. 

But Stiles would glance at him in class, lock eyes with him on campus and Derek felt the heat instantly. He’s no virgin; he had been with guys before. Boyfriends, one night stands. He was far from a prude or inexperienced. But Stiles’ reputation surpassed anything Derek had experienced. Countless men on campus and off during away games and vacations. Men who would show up a few weeks later looking for him on campus with flowers and hurt obsessed eyes because Stiles had not returned their calls and just left in the middle of the night after a night of what they believed could have been love. 

Derek had seen the scene unfold so many times he laughs now when he sees it happen. 

He shouldn't. The Sad thing is he could be one of those guys. He is one of those guys. Minus the flowers. 

When Derek started going to the Lacrosse games, not once in his life really ever giving a shit about sports, Stiles noticed. As he began his journey up the bleachers his eyes caught with Stiles once again as he pulled on his gloves from below. His eyes always looked so challenging. As if he was daring Derek to talk to him. To do something. And then one night Derek did. 

“Good game,” Derek told him as he jumped down onto the grass from the last bleacher. 

“Yeah?” Stiles eyed him like a Goddamn piece of meat and fuck if it wasn't the hottest thing Derek had ever experienced in his life. 

“Yup.” 

And that was it. He accepted Stiles’ challenge and spoke holy shit 3 whole words to the enigma. 

Not good enough apparently. 

Because the next day in Anthropology, Jamie, who usually sits next to Derek was all the way in the front of the class and Stiles was lounged in her seat as if he had sat there all semester and Derek didn't know if he should smile at the size of Stiles metaphoric balls or frown because who the hell does he think he is? Really? Making Jamie move like that. He liked Jamie. She was nice and she let him borrow a pen once. 

The whole situation made Derek feel like he’s in a really bad 80’s teen movie remake. He didn't look at Stiles the entire class. But shit if Stiles didn't look at him. 

It went on like that for a few weeks. Stiles had permanently moved his seat next to Derek. And no one said or acted like it was anything. Even though Derek was panicking and having so much anxiety about it in fact, he thought he was going to burst open at the seams at any second. 

But nothing serious really happened until the championship game last year. It had been about a month since those first words were muttered to Stiles Stilinski out of his mouth and Derek was shoving streamers and glitter off his car in the parking lot from the victory when suddenly there are hands snaking around his waist and hot breath on the back of his neck. 

“Get in the backseat.” 

Derek knew who it was. He knew the voice. And even though he had never been touched by him, Derek knew that touch. 

Stiles fucked Derek in the backseat of Derek’s Camry that night. Derek came all over Stiles’ Lacrosse jersey and Stiles bruised his hips from digging his fingertips into his skin as he came deep inside him. 

When it was over, Stiles pulled up his pants and got out of the backseat as if he was being dropped off at school on any other day. The parking lot was nearly empty at that point and by the time Derek got out, re-dressed and unable to comprehend what just transpired, Stiles was gone. 

The parking lot shimmered from the glitter in the bright parking lot lights and apparently it had even rained a little because streamers now lay tattered and torn in puddles at his feet. 

Derek wishes he remembered more of that first time. There have been so many other times since that first odd and clumsy night. He knows how soft and hot Stiles’ skin gets now. He knows the taste of Stiles’ lips and the curve of his beautiful cock. 

He’s had sex with Stiles in the backseat of cars, under the bleachers, against walls and yes sometimes even in a bed. But it's always dark. Always secret. And Derek is never acknowledged outside of their late night encounters. Maybe a smile here or there or a head nod, but the number of words Derek has spoken to Stiles Stilinski in the past year he could count on both hands. 

He doesn't count the words of praise as he’s fucked. He doesn't count the ‘Oh God’s’ or the ‘Harder’s’. No, those don't count. He doesn't know where Stiles grew up. He doesn't know if his parents are still together or divorced. He doesn't know his favorite band or what he likes on his pizza. 

Those things don't matter in Stiles’ world when he has his dick up your ass in your father's old Camry. No, that's the world Derek never gets to see or slide into. He just knows the slide of sweaty skin and hands over skin. 

Derek has been unable to be with anyone but Stiles since this started. He’s tried. He’s tried to kiss someone; he’s even brought someone back to his dorm...but every time they don't smell the same or taste the same and he feels ashamed. Which is ironic on so many levels. 

He knows Stiles sex life is like a revolving door and he should feel jealous or something and he definitely feels something but he just isn't sure what emotion it is. 

So he keeps opening the door to the backseat for Stiles when he sees him approaching him after the game. He allows himself to be pushed against a brick wall outside a club or the locker room. He allows himself to be bent in half under the bleachers. And he allows himself to climb up the big elm tree in the front of the house where Stiles lives to hoist himself into his bedroom window in the middle of the night when he gets the one word texts from him. 

“Now?” 

Is all it ever says. 

And every damn time Derek goes running. 

Derek has a small group of good friends. He gets good grades; his family is awesome. He has a good life. Guys like him; he could date if he wanted to. He could be happy. But he keeps this secret deep within himself. It's not that Stiles ever told him they needed to be quiet about it. Stiles isn't quiet about anyone else he’s fucking and neither are the rest of his lovers. But Derek just figured with all the late night sex. And the way Stiles doesn't even look at him during daylight anymore.

And Derek isn't quite sure why he feels the need to keep his sex life a secret. There is only one person that knows. 

And it's someone he never expected he’d have as a confidant. 

Stiles’ best friend Scott. 

The friendship is kind of a new development. A few weeks back as Derek landed on the front lawn from the tree outside Stiles’ bedroom after a quick...whatever the hell it is they do, he finds himself staring into big brown eyes of one Scott McCall, another Lacrosse player and Stiles oldest friend, sipping a beer on the front porch.

They ended up talking until 5am. 

They honestly don't talk much about Stiles. He finds he has a lot in common with Scott. And in a way, and maybe it's selfish, but Derek likes talking to Scott because it makes him feel closer to Stiles in some weird fucked up way. But even his friendship with Scott is a secret. He usually ends his rendezvous with Stiles with a beer on the porch with Scott. 

Scott doesn't sleep much. He never has. He knows more about Scott in 3 weeks than he does about Stiles in over a year. 

The only time they ever talked about ‘Derek and Stiles’ is that Scott mentioned after about 10 minutes of silence one Thursday night is that Derek is the only person Scott has seen more than once. Normally Stiles doesn't do ‘repeats.’ 

Derek isn't sure how to take it. But he can't get it out of his head. 

And now Stiles is shoving his uniform pants up back over his ass and he’s scowling. 

All because Derek can’t seem to get it out his head. 

Because Derek had to be an idiot and decide tonight, almost a year after all this started, would be the perfect time to add more sentences onto the already small amount that he has ever spoken to Stiles. And nope, it's not a question about the weather. Or a comment on his game tonight. Not at all. 

“Why am I the only one you’ve been with more than once?”

It's actually odd to hear his voice because he hasn't spoken a word to Stiles in so long it's as if he doesn't even recognize his own voice anymore. But Stiles just abruptly stops mid thrust and stares down into Derek’s eyes. 

“What?” 

“I...just wondered why.”

Stiles just continues to stare, his dick still lodged deep in Derek’s ass as they are laid out in the backseat of the car. He blinks a few times, his mouth hanging open in shock. 

“How do you...who told you that?”

“I’ve just never seen you with the same guy. But you always call me…” Derek tries to explain but is quickly shut down when he’s suddenly empty and the weight of another body on his is gone. Derek takes the cue and sits up as Stiles yanks his pants back up. 

“You don't know me. And we aren't in some relationship.” Stiles mumbles.

“I never said we were. I just asked you a question.” Derek begins to tug at his own pants. 

“Well, don’t.”

The back seat door is swung open and the cold night air blows into Derek’s face and he scoots across the seat to try to escape with Stiles but the door is slammed in his face before he can. He throws it open but by the time he stands, Stiles is gone. 

That pretty much brings us up to date.  
  
**Part Two -- Colors**  
  
Derek has realized just how beautiful dangerous things can be. 

Natural disasters that invade and destroy everything in their paths but are so wild and untamable that it makes them magnificent in their own right. 

Wild animals so graceful and elegant that would rip you apart in a second if given the chance. 

And people. How damaged and reckless they are with themselves and others but yet so enticing and gorgeous you feel the need to possess them.

And fire. 

Fire can be so beautiful. 

Derek can barely breathe. The smoke has filled his lungs to the point where any oxygen he had left in them has been replaced with carbon monoxide. He rolls his head against the wall he is currently lying against to find number 24 barely coherent. 

“Stay with me,” Derek chokes out. “Keep your eyes open. They are coming. I promise. Any minute now.”

He feels Stiles’ fingers lightly fall on top of his hand that has fallen flat on the tile floor and it takes all the strength he has left to intertwine their fingers. 

He watches the colors flicker in front of him as the fire destroys everything around him. 

It’s his fault they are stuck in this bathroom. Derek should have just left well enough alone and Stiles. But he couldn’t. Derek Hale had this debilitating inability to let anything go. He needed answers, just so many answers to any question he had in his head. 

Which is what brought Derek to the party to begin with. He and Stiles hadn’t seen each other since that night in his car when Derek felt the need to unload word vomit and the contents of his head out into the air. There had been no late night texts from Stiles asking for their usual booty call and Derek had continued to go to the games like some sort of masochist but Stiles was nowhere to be found after the games and Derek waited for him in his car in the parking lot for hours. 

So pathetic. 

Derek knew about the party. Everyone knew about the party at the Lacrosse house so he went. Which was completely out of character for him and all his friends told him so with their confused and disapproving looks when he said he couldn’t meet them at the local bar that night, something they did every Saturday night. No, he was going to this party and everyone in his circle thinks he has lost his mind. 

He probably has. 

He watches as Stiles mingles and flirts all night as Derek stands off in the background nursing his same warm beer from a typical red solo cup. He takes his chance when he sees Stiles go upstairs alone and he follows like a stalkerish kicked puppy and pushes the bathroom door open with his foot before Stiles has a chance to click it closed. 

It’s a brown versus green eyed stand off as Stiles stands near the bathtub and Derek near the door as he closes it and locks it. Stiles' eyes widen at the aggressiveness. His eyes darken at the gesture and he steps toward Derek in his usual predator like grace but Derek holds his hand out. 

“No.”

Stiles' eyes widen further but he stills and crosses his arms. 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“Then don’t.” Stiles spits back.

“Just like that?”

“You want me to cry? Beg you? No, it’s your choice. You’re a big boy. You don’t like what we’re doing, then don’t do it.”

“Answer me one question first.” Derek demands. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, huffing out an annoyed breath. “Fine.”

“Why me? Why me more than once?”

Stiles rolls his eyes again. “You’re a good lay. Your cock is huge and your ass is tight. It’s not rocket science.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?” Stiles takes a step forward.

“You’re full of shit. You like me and you won’t admit it.”

“I don’t do boyfriends, Derek. It’s too complicated and messy and the only need thing I need to focus on is Lacrosse and graduating so I can move on with my life. I don’t have time for hearts and romance and holding hands between classes. That may be what you want, but it’s not what I want.”

It’s the most words Stiles has ever said to Derek. Derek realizes how much he loves the sound of Stiles' voice. But the words he’s expelling are all bullshit. 

“You like me. Admit it. I don’t expect you to be my boyfriend. I’ll walk out of here tonight and never have to see you again. I can do that. I don’t want to, but I will. But just admit that you feel something for me.”

“I don’t even know you. And you don’t know me.”

“You’re right. So I’m keeping this door locked and us inside until we do. And after tonight, if you can honestly admit you don’t like me, I’ll never bother you again.” Derek crosses his arms this time, blocking the door with his tall muscular frame. 

“Why is this so important to you? If you can walk away with no attachment, what’s the point?” Stiles huffs, sitting on the edge of the tub. 

“I like to be right.”

Stiles laughs and it’s the most beautiful thing Derek has ever heard. 

“Fine.” Stiles motions toward the toilet. “Sit. You have one hour. Tell me your life story.” 

Derek smirks and takes a seat. 

The music is so loud downstairs they don’t hear the screams. No one comes and bangs on the bathroom door. And by the time Derek realizes something is going on downstairs, the doorknob is too hot to the touch and when he tried to pry the door open with a towel wrapped around his hand, the wood has expanded so much he can’t get the door open. There is nothing heavy enough in the bathroom to break down the door and he and Stiles scream and scream but no one hears them. 

Derek learns a lot of Stiles that night. His favorite color and his favorite band. He talked about the death of his mother and his overprotective but loving father. Derek told him about his big family and he’s always been the outcast because of his love for books and art and the beauty this world had to offer. Stiles smiles when he talks and they end up inching closer and closer together until they are both sitting on the floor side by side. Stiles is still pretty drunk and he measures Derek’s hand against his and Derek thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

This is the Stiles he wants to know. The Stiles few do know. Not the Lacrosse player. Not the man-eater. Just Stiles. With his sarcastic sense of humor and passion about things other than sports. Derek wonders and wants to ask why Stiles hides so much when who he really is is just so beautiful, but he doesn’t. He will save that for another time. 

But as Derek inhales one last time before it all goes black he realizes there is no more time. 

It’s a tragic tale and Derek almost laughs. His life had become so cliché and not how he intended it to go at all. 

Fire stains and paints everything with color.  
  
**Part Three -- Ghost**  
  
It had been 5 years. 

5 years since the door was broken down and Derek spent 6 months in the burn ward and 3 skin grafts and years of PTSD in which he had to slowly rebuild his life. He can barely enter bathrooms, even his own in his own apartment. He leaves the door open. 

He has an electric stove and matches scare the shit out of him. 

He has 10...yes 10 smoke detectors in his apartment and he checks all of them every day. Morning and night. He also checks the ones at the Library too where he works. The maintenance people think he’s crazy...well everyone thinks he’s crazy, but that’s nothing new. People give him odd looks on the street and he knows it’s because of his scars but he also knows it’s because he just radiates twitchy crazy guy off his body which keeps everyone at a safe distance. For him, not them. He hasn’t had sex in 5 years and he can barely stand to even touch himself. 

His dick isn’t burned but his right palm had a skin graft and he can barely stand to look at himself in the mirror let alone jerk himself off. 

It’s been 5 years since he saw the boy he nearly killed with a need for answers. After the fire, Stiles was transferred to a hospital closer to his hometown and there have been so many times Derek has wanted to find him. Facebook, Instagram, fuck just google search but he can’t. 

Derek is still in the same town as the college he attended as if he’s punishing himself for his past mistakes. He could leave, live anywhere. But he deserves the torture. The nightmares. 

Ghosts. 

His family wishes he would just come home. Live closer to them. Let them help him. But he doesn’t deserve help. 

He has a job. He has money. He has a place to go home to. He has a cat. 

He’s fine. 

Except when he’s not. 

Panic attacks. Nightmares. Suffocation. 

It’s all real. 

Whoever said time heals all wounds has never almost been burned alive. 

And one day 5 years after the smoke had finally settled and Derek could see in front of his face again, suddenly the room was on fire again because of the man standing in front of his face. 

His scars aren’t nearly as bad. But Derek knows that’s because he shielded his body with his own. But you can see the tortured skin at the neckline of his t-shirt. But his face. His face is still good. Still handsome. Still the same as it was all those years ago. 

Derek is still holding “A tale of two cities” in his hands as they face off in the deserted part of the library where the classic books live. It's Derek’s favorite part of the place he works. The only people who frequent it are older people in search of books from their youth. They are quiet, non-disruptive and calm. Derek appreciates it. 

“Hi.” Stiles whispers. 

“Hi.”

He stutters out a shaky breath. “Fuck, you look terrible.”

Derek can’t help but laugh at that. “What are you doing here?”

“I just...I guess I just had to see you.”

Derek gets it. 

“I’m sorry I never came to see you. I just...it was my fault so,”

“What?” Stiles gives him a confused look. “No, it wasn’t.”

“I was the reason you were in that bathroom.”

“Yes, but I could have left at anytime I wanted to. I don’t blame you for what happened to me. You saved me, Derek. You laid your body over mine to keep me from getting burned. I mean Christ, look at you.” He waves his hand toward his scarred body. 

“I’m fine.”

“You really look fine.” Stiles spits sarcastically. 

“Did you just come here to tell me how bad I look? I’m aware. I have mirrors.”

“Do you close the bathroom door when you pee?”

Derek’s eyes widen. “What?”

“I don’t. I can’t. I also can’t get in elevators. It’s weird.”

“PTSD.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

And then it’s quiet. Derek re-shelves the book and keeps his fingers white knuckling the cold metal shelf. “Tell me again why you’re here?”

“Just thought it was time. Found out where your parents lived. They are really nice. They told me where you were. Where you were working. Shit, Derek, why didn’t you ever leave this fucking town?”

Derek just shrugs. “It’s not so bad.”

“No wonder you’re so fucked up.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Stiles smiles at the memory. “You’re right.” He echoes. “But I’m going to stand right here until I do.”

“I don’t even know me.”

“Then we will find out together.”

Derek leans his forehead against the metal. “You don’t need to do this. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh Derek, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Even if you feel you do, I don’t want you to. I...I’m sure you have better things to do than be here.” Derek grabs another book off the cart in front of him and inspects the spine. “Just like you did in college.”

“I was an asshole then.”

“No shit.”

“It’s a classic tale, really Derek. You’ll like this one. Popular jock, asshole, fucks anything that moves suddenly has a tragic accident and realizes all he’s been missing and what an asshole he was. They turned it into a movie. Want a front row seat?” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows. Stiles still has eyebrows. Derek just has scars of where they used to grow. “Tell me you want me to leave and I will. But something tells me you don’t have many friends.”

“People are scared of me. Look at me.”

“I think you still look hot.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m not joking!” Stiles steps forward and when he reaches his hand out toward Derek, he flinches. “Shhh.” Stiles sweeps Derek’s hair off his forehead. “It’s just skin, Derek. I realized that the hard way. You never seemed that shallow anyway.”

“You don’t have scars on your face.”

“No, but I have them in places you can’t see. So do you. And no one is gonna understand what you’re going through more than me. And honestly, I could use someone too. So what do you say? Hang out for old times’ sake?”

Derek sighs. “I get off in an hour.”

Stiles smiles. “Let’s hope you do.”  
  
**Part Four -- Gasoline**  
  
“I’m gonna close the door.”

“No.”

“Derek, you can do this. I’m gonna close it. Count to 5 and then open it. Dr. Stine said this is the best way to do this. A little every day. Once you don’t panic at 5 seconds, we will move up to 10.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Derek, don’t you trust me?”

Truth is, Derek does. Stiles is the only one he does trust. 

It had been almost a year. A year since Stiles floated back into his life like he had done all those years ago with his eyes and smile and snarky remarks. They lived together now, sleeping in the same bed and cooking together. Stiles even got a job as the assistant Lacrosse coach at their old college. They were doing well.

But in almost a year they still had not had sex. Derek couldn’t even bring himself to undress in front of him. 

Stiles was patient. Making him go back to therapy, going with him, holding his hand through it all. But he could tell it was all coming to a breaking point. They talked about it in therapy and his doctor feels if he can get over some of his PTSD about locked doors and fire in general, he might be able to become intimate again. 

So he’s trying. 

Okay, maybe he’s not. He likes his fear. 

“Please, Derek.” Stiles voice changes and he lays his head against his boyfriend’s chest. “I want...I want you to get better. I wanna be able to touch you, kiss you...fuck you.”

“I don’t know why you stay. You could have anyone. Why do you stay with...this?” Derek waves his hand over his disfigured face. 

Stiles gives him a confused look. “Because I love you.”

“What?”

“What? You don’t love me?”

“No...I…” Derek takes a step back. “I do. I think I always have. I just…”

“You think I moved here, got a job here, went to therapy with you...did all this...out of pity? Because I had nothing better to do? No, maybe at first. But somewhere along the way I fell in love so now you’re stuck with me. Now get in this fucking bathroom and let me shut the door!”

And in that moment, Derek realizes what the real problem had been all along. Yes, some of it had to do with his scars and how he looks now. Back in college and he and Stiles had been doing...whatever it was they were doing, Derek was hot. Good skin, abs...he knew how he looked. Now? He was disgusting. Why would Stiles want to touch charred skin? 

And no matter how much he thinks he trusts Stiles, how did he know Stiles wouldn’t just up and leave. Again. He could walk away so easily all those years ago. Why should now be any different? 

But Stiles loves him. Him. The Derek he had wanted Stiles to get to know 6 years ago in that bathroom. The night they nearly burned alive. 

Derek steps forward, taking Stiles still perfect face in his scarred hands and kisses him. It’s the first time they had kissed in 6 years. His lips are still warm and plump and perfect and Derek is a bit self-conscious still because part of his upper lip doesn’t even exist anymore, but Stiles just moans and wraps his arms around his boyfriend. 

Number 24 filled Derek Hale that night not only with his long impressive cock but with his love too. With the promise that yeah, it had taken 6 years, a college degree and a house fire to get them here, but fuck if they weren’t going to make it work. 

Come hell or high water. 

Or fire.


End file.
